his worship of Bobby, and my hatred for Debbie
spawned from her failing to protect me. I stared
up at Debbie and gripped her legs tighter.
“Get up,” Bobby ordered from across the room.
He was standing next to Matthew with a
menacing look. I stayed in my spot at Debbie’s
feet, too afraid to move.
“I said get up boy and I aint bullshittin’ Get up!
We gonna make a man outta you right now.”
I pulled myself up Debbie’s shins and got to my
feet. My ripped sneakers made me unstable as I
stood. I balanced myself by leaning on her still-
shivering body.
Debbie wrapped her arms around me and held
me to her.
“Please don’t do this. I’ll make the money back
tonight. I promise,” she pleaded.
“Dis aint about no money. Dis about that bitch
gettin his ass kicked every time he leaves this
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gotdamn house. Gimme dat boy.” Debbie
relinquished her grip and put her hands on my
shoulders, gently pushing me forward.
Stumbling toward Bobby as he moved to the
center of the wide room, I recognized the rage on
his face.
“Make a fist, boy. Show me your fists. We gonna
teach you ta fight.” He put his hands up and
moved his feet into a fighting stance.
I stood before him, put my hands up and
mimicked his stance.
“Hit me, hit me now boy.”
I stood motionless with my fists balled loosely in
front of me.
“HIT ME BOY!” he screamed loosing his
patience.
I swung my arm toward him, and he slapped it
away with his strong, callused hand. I spun
around with the force of his slap. Losing my
balance in my torn shoes, I fell to the ground.
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Looking down at me, Bobby began to laugh as he
said, “Boy, you aint shit and you aint ever gonna
be shit. Now get up!”
Setting my hands on the floor behind me, I
pushed myself up. I presented myself to Bobby
with my hands to my side. His punch landed on
my forehead, knocking me immediately back to
the floor.
“I’m tellin’ you boy, you aint ever gonn’ be shit.
You aint gonn’ get outta here tonight if you don’t
fight back. Come on boy, get up.” He walked a
few steps into the kitchen, went to the refrigerator
and got a beer, as I tried to lift myself from the
ground.
“Boy, yo problem is you can’t make no fist. Let
me show you,” he approached me slowly while
taking a long pull from his beer. He put the beer
on the stove and stood in front of me. His hands
were cold and damp from the beer when he
grabbed my hands and manipulated my fingers.
He pushed my thumb into my palm and wrapped
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my fingers around it. I was confused and my
fingers were uncomfortable in the fist he had
made.
“Bobby, don’t. He’s gonna get hurt; he’s gonna
break his hand,” Debbie’s voice was back to
normal as she sat at the table smoking a cigarette.
Her words and inaction ravaged my heart. She
never moved from her chair to defend herself or
me.
“Bitch, dis boy need to know how ta fight if he
gonna live tonight. Shut up an’ let him learn or
you gonna be nex’.” She was dismissed without a
look.
“Boy, dis what you gon’ do. Get yo ass out in‘at
hallway an’ you gone use dis fist to knock on da
door. When I can hear you, I’ll let you in.” He
wrapped his hand over my tiny fist and squeezed.
My thumb was uncomfortable and I knew
something was wrong.
Debbie protested while Bobby pushed me out
into the hall. “He’s gonna break his thumb hitting
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the door the way you want him to. He’ll break his
thumb.” She was crying again, her knees up and
her arm extended with the cigarette smoldering,
sending a veil of smoke before her tear-soaked
face.
“Baby, you need to shut up. You done wasted my
money on dis bastard, you caint work tonight,
and now dis little bitch is gonna learn to be a
man. If he don’t, I’ma kill both a ya. Now shut da
hell up. Look he aint gonna break no thumb.” He
wrapped his hand into the same fist he had made
out of my hand and punched her in the side of
the head, knocking her out of the chair.
“See bitch,” he laughed as he raised his out
stretched hand in the air, “my thumb aint broke.”
Without another look Bobby stepped toward me
and guided me to the door. He pulled it open and
shoved me into the dark hall.
“Boy, you keep knockin’ like I showed you. When
I can hear you, I’ll let you in, and we’ll try again.
But I aint fightin no little bitch that can’t make no
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fist.” The door slammed in my face, and I was
standing alone in the near darkness.
I stood for a moment, my fist still formed into
Bobby’s version of a fist. I pounded on the door
with the bottom of my fist, but with the first hit
my hand stung, and pain shot through my body. I
cradled my fist in my other hand.
Through the door I heard Bobby yell, “I don’t
hear nothin boy. You better be knockin’ louder.”
Facing that door, I harnessed all the anger I felt,
and I heard Bobby’s words in my head playing
over and over, “Boy, you aint shit and you aint
ever gonna be shit.” I promised myself at that
moment that no matter what happened, if I lived
to make it away from Bobby, I
would
be
something and I would not ever be like these
people, not like Bobby
or
Debbie.
Unwrapping my fingers from Bobby’s painful
version of a fist, I formed my hands into normal
fists and pounded on the door with all of my
energy. Doors opened around me, and as I swung
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my head and arms wildly, I caught glimpses of
curious eyes peeking out of the slightest cracks
behind chained doors. The neighbors never said a
word, as I continued lashing out at the door.
Finally exhausted, I threw my body against the
door. Pressed against the door, I couldn’t hear
any sounds other than the TV from inside the
apartment.
The stale air of the hallway burned my nostrils,
but my mouth was too dry to breathe through.
My chest heaved as I regained my will. I backed
away from the door and sucked in a last deep
breath before I began pounding on the door
again. Sweat ran down my face, matting my curly
hair to my forehead and stinging the cuts on my
face. I punched the door with all of my strength,
trying to get Bobby’s attention, trying to get
Bobby’s respect. My mind trained on the door, I
did not notice the man coming up the stairs
behind me until he was almost next to me.
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A big hand reached out from the darkness and
shook my head gently. “Damn boy, you been
playin’ outside all day? You all sweatin’ and dirty
as hell.” His voice was kind and joyful; his big
grin framed his gleaming teeth in the darkness. I
didn’t respond. He took his now wet hand from
my head and wiped it on his pants, then reached
up and drummed on the door with ease, but the
noise echoed through the stairwell.
I heard his voice as the door swung open
effortlessly, “
That’s
what I’m talking about boy”
said Bobby, his face beaming down at me for an
instant. Then he noticed the man standing to my
left, and I was rendered inconsequential.
“Yo brother, ya got that play?” the smiling man
asked in a hopeful tone.
“Yeah man, come on in,” Bobby’s voice was
welcoming, and his face still smiled, but he was
no longer looking at me.
The man had come to score, and that meant
money, and that made Bobby happier than
62
anything else. The door was wide open as Bobby
waved the man inside. The smell of marijuana
wafted into the hall from the smoke-filled room.
The smiling man put his large palms on my
sweaty back and pushed me in before him.
“Come on lil’ brotha,” he sang, and we entered
the apartment together.
Matthew was still on the couch watching TV, his
long blonde hair draped over the top of the
couch. Debbie was not in sight. Bobby went to
the refrigerator and got a beer and picked up a
joint that was already burning. He sat down at
the kitchen table with his friend, and for the
moment I was forgotten.
I walked the few steps back to the bathroom, and
there I saw Debbie, washing her face. We shared
a quick glance, her lips parted as if to speak, but I
walked on by. I entered the bedroom I shared
with Matthew at the end of the short hall. Pulling
off my shirt, I wiped it over my head and face.
The shirt was wet with sweat and blood and
63
covered in filth when I threw it on the floor.
Looking down at my tattered new shoes, I knew
there would still be a price to pay and a promise I
would have to keep.
64
“GET-OFF-OF-ME-NOW!” Garek screamed.
“Sir, we will get up when you have calmed down.
As long as you’re yelling and fighting me, I can’t
let you up.” I spoke calmly and quietly.
“I’M TELLING MY MOTHER AND HER
BOYFRIEND IS GONNA COME UP HERE
AND KICK YOUR BUTT,” he threatened.
Having given him the instruction he needed to be
released, I remained silent as he screamed. I held
him as gently as possible while restricting his
movement. This was not the first time Garek and
I had gone through this routine, but it was the
first time he had hurt another student.
Garek was about 5’6” at 13 years old. He’d only
been in my class for a few weeks and had been
aggressive and disruptive since the first day. The
other students warned him that he was making a
mistake by acting out, but nothing seemed to
keep him calm until he had tired himself after
65
lashing out at me for several hours. Garek had
never been confronted for his behavior and was
used to getting his way through threats and
intimidation. How I had not met him sooner than
I did was beyond me.
Garek had been sitting at his desk, and without
warning or provocation he started growling like
an animal and threw a book at another student.
Stunned by the impact, the assaulted student sat
drooping in his chair while Garek approached. I
moved hastily in his direction. He picked a book
from a desk and threw it at me. I slapped the
book toward the wall and moved more quickly.
When I was in range he swung a fist at my head
and started screaming obscenities. I spun him
around using his own momentum and used the
approved restraint techniques to control his
movement and keep the other students safe.
As I cradled him in front of me, I spoke gently to
assure him that he was safe but that he needed to
calm down. Refusing to calm down, he slammed
66
his head back and forth, trying to hit me in the
face. I moved my head in opposing motions to
his, causing him more frustration. At the same
time, my assistant removed the other students
from the room and left Garek and me alone,
except for a counselor from a local guidance
agency who was on the phone with Garek’s
mother. The alternative behavior program
contracted with a local agency to work within the
behavior classrooms and in the community to
bring support and services to the children and
their families.
Garek’s blood-curdling screams and the
evacuation of my classroom had gotten the
immediate attention of the office staff. An
administrator opened the door slightly and stuck
her head into the room. She waved and assessed
the situation.
“Everything ok?” she asked calmly with a
confident smile.
“Yes, ma’am.”
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“Does mom know?” she queried while nodding
her head toward Garek, now lying prone on the
floor.
Over Garek’s manipulative cries of how I had
punched or intentionally hurt him, I spoke with
poise and composure, “Michelle called a minute
ago and spoke with her; we’re covered,” came my
cool reply.
The administrator, still peeking in the door,
peered over at Michelle who was standing by the
telephone on the wall. Michelle nodded, “Mom
just asked us to call her back if he was going to be
suspended, otherwise she said to do whatever we
had to. She was very agreeable.”
“Sounds good, let me know if you need
anything,” the administrator chimed as she pulled
her head back and closed the door.
Garek’s screams continued as he began to kick his
legs up, trying to kick me in the head. His too
large sandals flipped off his feet, and one made
contact with my face. The odor was crushing to
68
my senses. Instantly I realized I’d smelled that
smell before.
The room was empty except for Michelle, so I
took an unprecedented chance. I eased my hands